Is everyone enjoying Serving Lisa so far? I know it’s not typical Delacroix fiction. For on thing our main character is straight (Well, sort of ….) And of course there’s the whole BDSM thing some people find too over-the-top. But hey, I can’t please everyone, and at least the story if free of charge. What a deal. 🙂
I woke around eight this morning, and after a quick breakfast I got busy working on edits for two books I have in process. The morning flew by. At eleven AM, I left the desk and went for a delightful three-mile walk.
It’s a beautiful day, here on the island. The sun is shining, a gentle breeze is blowing, and the temperature’s around 76 degrees F. I have a few projects to work on this afternoon, around the house. I need to thoroughly clean my car for an upcoming road trip, and I have some painting to do, so I will stay busy.
All right, everyone, here’s the third installment of Serving Lisa. Remember, if explicit scenes involving BDSM and/or sex between consenting adults bothers you, the you should not read Serving Lisa.
Serving Lisa, copyright 2010, Martin Delacroix
On a Saturday, two days after my “interview”, I moved in with Lisa and Andreas.
Once I’d unpacked, Lisa took me to a leather shop in the gay district of town. She wore stilettos, a leather skirt that barely covered her ass, and a blouse showing lots of cleavage. At her instruction, I wore jeans, a tight t-shirt and a leather collar with stainless steel studs. I kept my chin low, terrified I might see someone I knew from school.
Inside the shop, a muscled man named Roland greeted Lisa. She introduced me and when I shook the guy’s hand his gaze slid over me like a clothes iron pressing a shirt. He wore a leather vest, leather pants and motorcycle boots. Tattoos covered his forearms and his head was shaved.
He led us to a wall where dozens of implements hung from hooks. He fingered several before lifting one and showing it to Lisa. The device was fashioned from black leather, probably two feet long, four inches wide, and a quarter-inch thick, with a handle at one end.
“It’s quite effective,” Roland said. Then he gestured at me. “Whip him bareassed and he’ll know who’s the boss.”
Lisa seized the strap, turning it this way and that, while her jaw worked from side to side. Then she asked Roland, “May I give it a try?”
A lump rose in my throat. Surely she won’t do this. Not here….
Roland said, “Of course you can,” and then he winked at me. After locking the front door, he led us to a workshop at the rear of the store. The space was lit by a fluorescent ceiling fixture and the whole room smelled of leather. The windows were opaque and fitted with crime bars. Roland leaned against a tool bench with his arms crossed before his chest while I trembled with fear. I fought an urge to bolt. How could Lisa do this to me?
She seized my forearm and placed me in the center of the room, turned so I faced Roland. I couldn’t look him in the eye I felt so ashamed. I kept my gaze fixed upon the floor while my chest rose and fell and dampness gathered in my armpits.
Lisa stood behind me and to the side. Clutching the strap, she tapped it against my ass.
“Drop your pants, Lane.”
My eyes watered and my voice quivered. “Please, ma’am. Not here.”
She placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s for your benefit.”
A tear rolled down my cheek. I sniffled, then swallowed.
“Do as I say.”
I thought, Go on, punk: obey.
After unbuttoning my pants, I lowered the zipper and shucked the jeans to my ankles.
“Your briefs as well.”
My cheeks burned with shame. I stole a glance at Roland—he grinned like it was his birthday. My hands trembled when I slid my undies south. My cock had stiffened and now it bobbed before me, belying my protest and exposing my perverse needs to Roland.
Roland chuckled as Lisa flicked my penis with the tip of the strap. “My boy’s excited,” she said. “He knows what he likes.”
My heart raced and sweat beaded on my forehead.
“Grab your ankles, Lane.”
I did so.
“Chin up. Look at Roland.”
Roland’s eyes glittered when my gaze met his. He licked one corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue.
The strap hissed when Lisa swung; it seared my bottom like a blow torch when it struck, making a sound like a pistol shot. I yelped and nearly sank to my knees.
Jesus Christ, that hurt!
Another swat scorched my thighs, it made a popping sound that reverberated off the cinder block walls. I cried out and stamped my feet against the concrete floor.
“Chin up,” said Lisa. “Eyes on Roland.”
Roland grinned when I looked at him through teary eyes. “I think he likes it,” he told Lisa, making her laugh.
Another lick popped my buttocks, then another, setting my skin aflame. I shrieked through gritted teeth; I trembled like a kid in a spook house. The next blow caught me just above my knees. It stung badly and I bounced my heels, squealing in pain. Lisa must have enjoyed my reaction, as she whipped me twice more in the same spot, quick and devastating blows. I couldn’t help myself; I sank to the floor and peed on myself, squirming and wailing like a three year-old.
“Get up,” Lisa barked. “On your feet at once.”
I rose while blubbering. My belly and thighs were damp with piss.
“Get back in place. We are not finished.”
I resumed the position, gripping my ankles and gazing at Roland while he grinned and shook his head at my misfortune.
Lisa tapped my buttocks with the strap. “You will receive three more, but I’ll increase the number if you move again. Is that clear?”
She swung harder than before. All three licks struck my tender behind. I howled like a dog because my ass felt as though I’d sat on hot coals, but I stayed in place, fearing additional swats. When Lisa finally told me I could rise, I felt utterly debased. I whimpered and trembled and tears streamed down my cheeks. My legs were rubber.
She patted my bottom. “It’s hot to the touch,” she told Roland. “Very nice.”
A shop sink occupied one corner and I was permitted to clean myself, though my pants and briefs stayed at my ankles. I mopped the floor bare-bottomed while Roland and Lisa observed.
Roland asked Lisa, “Shall I carve his name into the strap?”
Lisa declined, and then I shivered when she told Roland, “Lane can do that himself. I know he’ll do a fine job.”
Once I’d finished mopping, Lisa allowed me to pull up my pants. I did so gingerly—my bottom was tender—but I felt relieved nonetheless. I was tired of Roland’s leering glances and I craved departure, but my joy turned to dread when we reached the crowded sidewalk. People were everywhere, toting shopping bags, pushing strollers, walking dogs, and traffic clogged the street. Roland had placed the strap inside a plastic sack, but Lisa discarded it and handed me the strap. She said, “Hold it before you, waist-high. Use both hands.”
I did so.
“Follow me, three paces behind.”
My cheeks burned as I trailed my mistress. Already, people were staring.
Lisa took her time walking to the car. Twice she stopped and studied merchandise in shop windows while I stood behind her, clutching the strap with my chin lowered and my hands trembling.
I heard a child’s voice. “That boy looks sad, Mommy. Why?”
I didn’t hear the mother’s response, but my predicament was certainly obvious. People passed on the sidewalk, looking first at me and my collar, then the strap, then Lisa. They exchanged glances while puckering their faces and shaking their heads. Two teenage boys giggled as they walked by and one told the other, “What a fag.”
Without warning my cock stiffened and my pulse accelerated. This public humiliation, combined with my burning bottom, fed a hunger I’d never before acknowledged, one that dwelt deep within me. I craved shame, I loved the derisive stares of passersby. A warm glow filled my breast and I felt an urge to masturbate, right there on the sidewalk.
Gazing at Lisa through teary eyes, I thought, thank you, mistress, for your kindness. You know exactly what I need.
Okay, friends, that all of Serving Lisa for today. I hope you’re having a nice Tuesday, wherever you might be today.